Standing at 13,000 feet, knee deep in snow, we faced an agonizing choice between two paths: drop off the ridge now, ski to the flats below and pile into a helicopter for one-run of untouched powder, or, alternatively, keep hiking up a steep spine of rocks, assisted by a rope, skis and boards on our backs, for another 20 minutes. The heli-skiing seemed to be the obvious choice, and four of our group of eight made that call with no hesitation. They skied down, yelling and whooping toward a waiting helicopter. Four of us kept trudging upward.

We had more than an inkling that we had made the right decision, however. Our leader in this case was Jen Brill, who founded Silverton Mountain with her husband, Aaron, 13 years ago. As the business has grown up, Brill, a former pro snowboarder, stepped back from guiding; in fact, we were the first people she’d guided on the mountain in four years. On the ridge, deliberating the heli decision, we got a nudge to keep going from Brill: “Guys, I can’t promise you anything, but I’m telling you, I think this is going to be good—really, really good.” For those of us left—myself, Sean Buxton, a wealth manager from Silicon Valley, Joe Thornhill, a digital media publisher from Arizona, and Charles Crichton, an attorney from Denver—ignoring Brill’s clear excitement at what kind of skiing was ahead seemed imprudent.

So we kept going up, rope in our hands, one step at a time, eventually getting past a rather vertical pitch called the Hillary Step. Not quite the test as its namesake on Mt. Everest, we were still happy to get the crux behind us. When we reached the spot where we’d drop in, an hour after setting off from the ski lift at 12,500 feet, Jen chatted with her patrollers on the radio about where we should go. She had one particular spot in mind. “Has anybody been in there?” she asked. The response came quickly: “Nobody.”

Our group carries on toward the promise of Porn Star. Not a typical boot pack: note the rope. (Hillary Step)

Our destination was a couloir that’s unofficially known as Porn Star. The U.S. Bureau of Land Management, which permits Brill’s operation to ski this patch of the San Juans in southwest Colorado, frowns upon referring to government land with fun, albeit juvenile monikers, so Porn Star stays off the books. Officially, we were skiing snow without a name.

With undisturbed powder and the shape of a 30-foot-wide water slide, the couloir lived up to Brill’s non-promises as we arced through it, linking turns for 1,000 vertical feet, rock walls at our sides, an immaculate drape of snow below us.

Our erstwhile hiking buddies, having been dispatched by the helicopter on a ridge across the valley, paused their own descent and admired our work. We looked like TGR gods, but, really, it wasn’t us. It was the perfect snow, the perfect pitch, the perfect proportions of a run that got its name because it makes everybody look like a porn star.

The couloir then transitioned to a narrower chute, smartly dubbed The Fluffer, which held deeper snow. These were the benefits of the extra vertical we earned on the ridge. To us urbanites, The Fluffer felt like the Chugach.

Most won’t be lucky enough to ski with one of the Brills when at Silverton, but runs like ours happen nearly every day this place is open. I profiled the Brills and their mountain nine years ago in Forbes magazine, and I ventured back last winter to have some fun and to see what’s changed for the Brills during a decade of shepherding expert skiers through this snowy, steep and high stretch of the Rockies.

The Brills work harder, longer, than most any resort operator in the industry. Their avalanche control and analysis work has become a standard. In 13 years of skiing this stretch of serrated peaks where heavy snowfall and high Colorado conditions combine to make for a dangerous snowpack, not one skier at Silverton has been buried by a slide, remarkable considering that people have been buried and killed in-bounds at big commercial ski resorts in recent years.

Author's group prepares to drop at Silverton Mountain

The hard work remains, but plenty has changed for the Brills. Since they first hatched this plan by attaining mining rights on the land in 2000 for a song, they’ve handed off most of the guiding to their staff, settled down in Silverton, started a family and watched as new restaurants and lodging options in town rallied around a winter tourist season that didn’t exist before the couple showed up from Montana. (Not to be missed: Montanya, serving Colorado-distilled gin, which makes for mean cocktails)

For skiers, change isn’t too apparent, other than the helicopter. Piloted by Philip Genick, an Austrian whose mechanical skill with the craft seems almost robotic, the helicopter rarely stops moving during the day, ferrying heli-skiing clients who pay $999 for the day or, in what is a uniquely Silverton offer, $179 for a single drop. Heli-skiing clients now come over from Aspen for the day, on a chartered plane to Telluride Airport, where the Silverton helicopter picks them up and has them at the base of the Brills’ mountain 10 minutes later. The charter flight is $2,000 round trip and can take four skiers.

Having honed the operations at Silverton Mountain to a fine science, the helicopter has allowed the Brills to expand to Alaska, the only place where terrain and snow can coalesce to create conditions that can beat Silverton at its best. Since 2009, Aaron has been taking several of his guides and the helicopter north to the promised land beginning in the second week of March until the end of April.

Sean Buxton makes like a mountain goat, if a goat could snowboard and hold a rope

When the Brills expanded to Alaska—with the largest area of permitted skiing territory of any heli operation in the state—it was with the goal of solving two problems that had vexed other outfitters: uncooperative weather that can keep choppers grounded for days, ruining some skiers’ trips; and the thorny problem of skier compatibility. Being slotted into the wrong group for several days of heli-skiing creates a problem for everyone involved. Faster skiers who have paid the better part of $10,000 for their week in Alaska feel cheated when slower skiers cost them time, runs and vertical; and slower skiers feel the constant pressure of having to ski faster than they’re capable while rarely getting a fair rest (because they’re always working to catch up).

Skiers pay $6,900 for six days and five nights, which includes all helicopter time, meals and lodging in 300-square-foot cabins. Brill’s guides pick up skiers at the Anchorage airport.

By getting an area of 10 million acres, Brill can solve fog, snow and instability problems by simply flying his clients to spots where the conditions are better. With no permanent headquarters, Brill can uproot his entire operations, if bad conditions persist, and move to a different region—although he prefers the stability and reliable visibility of the northern Chugach.

To ensure small groups of clients are of the right makeup to be skiing together for days at a time in Alaska, Brill requires that they clear a phone interview and, more important, ski with his guides in Silverton for a full assessment. If prospective Chugach skiers haven’t skied in Silverton, the Brills require that they come to Alaska in groups of four, so that they can ski as a single group without threatening to create a bad mix with other clients.

The strategy has worked, as every Alaska client of the Brills has gotten their full amount of guaranteed snow and vertical, an uncanny track record for Alaska.

For skiers who haven’t the time or money for a push to Alaska, the slow-moving double chair at Silverton awaits you. During the prime time of late January, February and March, Silverton still only offers guided skiing, at $139 a day—$175 with avalanche equipment. Just like 10 years ago, the mountain is open Thursday through Sunday and, just as before, reservations are recommended. The difference now, though, is that this is a serious recommendation: most days sell out weeks in advance, with the exception, should it land on a weekend, of February 14. Superbowl Sunday is also a good day to have much of Silverton to yourself.

The mountain’s rental shop still resides in a school bus whose rear door is jammed into the snowpack. The base lodge is still a big pole tent warmed by a wood-burning stove and lined with random bench seats liberated from conversion vans that were undoubtedly recycled by Chinese scrap operations years ago. Oh—there is more than one beer tap now.

The Brills say they’ve been weighing the construction of a base lodge made of more permanent materials than plastic sheeting—things like wood and stone—but having informally polled their clientele, from ski bum bros who have hitchhiked in from Durango to hedge funders who have flown in from Aspen, they’ve found most people favor keeping the current setup that’s unique within the ski industry. If a change does get made, it would be for the people who work at Silverton every day, the Brills and their 35 guides/patrollers, many of whom have been here since the beginning, 13 years ago. Visiting skiers don’t need lodges. They’re happy to kick back in a warm tent with new friends to drink beer and regale each other with tales of powder, wipe outs and encounters with a Porn Star.

The Place To Eat: Avalanche Cafe—breakfast burritos, coffee and goodies.